Be A Man
by lorilee66
Summary: Jarrod finds out what it means to be a man.
1. Chapter 1

Sitting on the back of the wagon, Jarrod maintained a firm hold on his feelings. He wasn't weak, no matter what his father said, and he wasn't going to give into the homesickness that already plagued him a mere twenty miles from home. The wagon's contents shifted and the sixteen year old was sandwiched even further between the crates and barrels. He'd always travelled by river before; his father was proud of their hard-earned wealth and made sure everyone knew it, so the family always had a first class cabin on one of the riverboats whenever they made the trip from Stockton to San Francisco.

But the only money Jarrod had was the half eagle he'd saved from his last birthday so he needed to be frugal. He supposed he owed Tom some sort of respect as his son, but Jarrod didn't want to be beholden to him in any way. He rubbed his still sore cheek. His father had slapped him pretty hard after that last argument. Tom had informed Jarrod that since he had finally finished school, his oldest son was going to start working solely on the ranch. He said in no uncertain terms was his son going to become some town dandy and he further said the ranch hands had all been instructed that they were to 'make a man' out of him. When Jarrod refused, Tom hit him. Jarrod chose not to waste any more breath arguing that a lot of respected men were lawyers, not ranchers, author of the Declaration of Independence Thomas Jefferson being only one. He just packed his bag, waited until the wee hours of the morning and rode into Stockton. He'd left the horse at the livery, not wanting to give his father any reason to have the law track him down as a horse thief. He didn't really think his father would do that, but wouldn't put it past him to use the horse as an excuse if he wanted to bring back his wayward son.

He found a man cursing over a half-loaded wagon of freight and quickly took advantage of the fact that the man's partner was too hung over to get the job done to make it to San Francisco by the deadline for the ship the cargo was destined for. Jarrod received a dollar for helping load the wagon, a ride to the city and was promised another dollar if he helped unload at the docks when they arrived.

Jarrod's heart ached when he thought of what he was leaving behind, even though he couldn't see he had any other choice. His mother would be heartbroken, he knew, even with the letter he'd left for her. He thought of how he might never race his brother Nick over the fields again and hoped their father would let his younger brother take the place at his side Jarrod knew Nick was born for. He then thought of his baby sister, only three, and wondered if Audra would even remember the big brother who played horsie with her and read her stories from his books to settle her at bedtime. Jarrod didn't assume he'd ever come back, but he knew the wide open spaces of the San Joaquin valley would always be home.

The wagon hit a large rut and Jarrod winced as one of the crates hit his foot. The owner's partner was sleeping off his binge in the front seat which relegated Jarrod to cargo. It wasn't really fair since he'd done most of the work, but he wasn't in any position to complain. And the drunken man would likely have already been crushed, Jarrod told himself and squirmed into what he hoped was a more stable position.

It took them three days to get to San Francisco and Jarrod volunteered to take care of the horses when they stopped each night. The young man didn't shirk at anything he was asked to do and ended up with a place on the wagon seat for part of the day in return for his hard work. When they arrived in the city, the wagon made its slow way down to the busy docks and Jarrod helped unload the freight into the warehouse where it would wait for the ship that was to take it up the coast.

"You're a hard worker, son," the wagon's owner said as he gave Jarrod his promised wage and a bit more. "I added a little for all the help you were on the trail and I've put in a good word for you with Cal Parker who owns this warehouse. He's always looking for strong backs if you want a job."

Jarrod stood a little straighter at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he said. He hadn't been sure how he would support himself in the city. As a rule, reading law didn't pay and he did have to eat. "Could you direct me to him, sir?"

"Over there." A burly man with handlebar moustaches was talking to another man. The owner of the wagon extended a hand and Jarrod shook it. "Good luck, son."

Jarrod picked up his bag, took a deep breath and walked over.

"Mr. Parker?" he asked politely when the conversation was finished. "I understand you have a job available."

The man looked him over. "Well," he said as he stroked his moustache, "I was hoping to find someone a little bigger, but I guess beggars can't be choosers." Jarrod made himself stand firm at the slight insult. He knew it wasn't personal but the comment did hit a bit too close to home. Parker jerked his head. "Put your stuff in the office over there. There's another two wagons to unload. Carl here'll show you where they are."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Jarrod said as he rushed to stow his bag in the office and immediately got to work. He was tired and hot by the time all the freight was unloaded but earned himself a hearty clap on the back, as well as another two bits.

"I'm impressed," Parker said. "Now I'm looking for someone for the early shift to load the ships heading up the coast. Starts about five, the ships sail at ten. I can offer you $5 a week, Sundays off." He waited for Jarrod's reply.

Jarrod didn't have to think long. It wasn't as much as the labourers on the ranch earned but he figured he could get by, even with the higher prices in the city. Besides, the hours would hopefully give him time to read law, assuming he could find someone who would give him the chance. "You won't regret this, sir," he told Parker as he shook his hand.

Jarrod's new employer recommended an inexpensive rooming house a few blocks away. As he pulled up the well-worn but clean blanket, the young man desperately fought off his homesickness. The shouts and catcalls of sailors from the wharfs were a far cry from the soothing lowing of cattle that he would hear from his window at home. But Jarrod knew the stifling air of the city was more bearable than the stifling atmosphere back in Stockton. He'd seen it before, men turned bitter and old before their time after being thrust into a life not of their choosing and he was determined it wouldn't happen to him.

Jarrod sighed as he tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. It hadn't always been that way, he remembered. At one point, he would have been thrilled to work the ranch at his father's side. But the accident a couple years ago had changed all that as he became an object of Tom Barkley's scorn and shame instead of his pride and joy.

Jarrod resolutely held back a tear and pushed back the slight anxiety that came with the memory. It was better now, he told himself, he had worked through the nightmare, even if his goal had changed and it was too late to regain his father's respect. He drifted off to sleep, but the events haunted him once again in his dreams.

_Jarrod wanted to make his father proud; there was no better rancher in the valley than Tom Barkley. He had been sent off on his own to gather up some far-ranging strays and Tom's eldest son was determined not to fail. His horse galloped across the open range when the animal suddenly stumbled. Jarrod tried to kick free from the stirrups as he'd been taught, but he wasn't fast enough and he felt a crushing weight on his chest and leg as his mount fell heavily to the ground. He must have blacked out, because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was already sinking below the horizon. The horse's chest heaved with laboured breathing and from its feeble struggles, Jarrod knew one of the bay's legs must be broken. His first thought was that he couldn't let the animal suffer. Thankfully, his right arm and leg were free and Jarrod drew the revolver he'd received not long before for his fourteenth birthday._

"_It's okay, boy," he murmured sadly as he cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger. The bay jerked once and then was still._

_It was a terrifying night, trapped under the cooling body of his horse. Jarrod tried without success to push his way free and as the hours marched on, his own body grew numb and he could hear the howls of coyotes move closer. He clutched the pistol tightly but eventually blacked out again as he succumbed to the fear and pain._

Jarrod struggled to get free until he realized he wasn't trapped under the darkness of his dead horse, he was lying on the narrow bad of a rooming house in San Francisco. The off-key warbling of a lone man likely making his way from one of the waterfront saloons drifted through the air. Jarrod sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and then made his way to the rickety washstand to pour himself a drink of the tepid water in the pitcher.

The months of recovery came back with painful clarity. He wasn't found until early the next morning and didn't recall much of the next few days. His left leg was broken in two places, he had several broken ribs and developed pneumonia from lying trapped for so long. His father tried to get him back into the saddle as soon as his leg was out of splints, but he was still weak from his illness and his mother wouldn't hear of it. Jarrod spent weeks in his room with nothing to do but the work Nick brought home from school and read the books Silas brought with his meals. He smiled as he remembered the hours his normally active little brother spent playing checkers and cards. He hadn't really thanked Nick adequately for that, he thought with a pang of regret, and wondered if he'd ever get the chance.

But the books he spent his convalescence reading had opened his mind to a world of possibilities he'd never thought of before. Jarrod had always been a good student, but also had assumed he'd work by his father's side when he was done school. During his recovery, he devoured the works of Thoreau and Emerson and followed the forcing of Indian tribes off their land in the wake of the gold rush in the newspapers. He became fascinated with the rise in politics of a humble Illinois lawyer by the name of Abraham Lincoln. It was those examples that started him thinking of a career in law. If right-minded men didn't stand up for justice, then there would be no justice at all.

Jarrod crawled back into bed. He'd never wanted to disappoint his father. Even with his new thoughts on what he might do with his life, he'd been eager to get back out on the range at Tom's side. When he got back on a horse and the animal started moving, however, Jarrod panicked at the remembered horror of falling and being trapped. When the horse sensed his fear and sidestepped restlessly, Jarrod dropped the reins and clutched white-knuckled to the saddlehorn.

He closed his eyes tightly. He could still hear his father yelling at him, the horse getting more agitated and eventually bucking him off. He hadn't been able to make himself remount and Tom practically manhandled him back into the saddle with the same results. He could still see the disgust on his father's face as he rode off and left his teenage son lying scared in the dirt.

He wasn't that frightened boy anymore, Jarrod told himself. He'd known he had to get back on a horse at some point and, when no one was around, worked through his fear on his own by starting on the gentle old pony both he and Nick had learned to ride on. But the damage had already been done. Even after the long months he spent to conquer the panic and asked to help out around the ranch again, Tom derided him, stating that he was weak and berating his mother for making his son into a mama's boy. Jarrod no longer wanted a life on the ranch and decided to pursue his other dreams, even though they were shot down with a vengeance when he broached them to his father.

The choice had been made. He couldn't go back, not and be true to himself. With a determination born of being his parents' son, Jarrod pulled the blanket over his head and tried again to get some sleep.

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_I don't own "The Big Valley" and make no money from writing this_


	2. Chapter 2

_A minor timeline tweak with this spoiler for "Night of the Wolf".  
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"I finished copying those contracts, sir." Jarrod held out the papers, which were taken and perused carefully.

"Good job, son." Percy Harkins lay the contracts on the desk. "You have a very neat hand."

"Thank you, sir." Jarrod hesitated and then took a deep breath before speaking again. "I made a few notes, sir, and put them at the back. I was wondering if the reciprocation clause might need to be tightened up a bit." He stood nervously as Harkins raised an eyebrow.

The experienced lawyer shuffled through the papers to the spot Jarrod had indicated. He frowned thoughtfully and then smiled. "You're right. Good eye. I'll make the changes tomorrow morning." He looked up at Jarrod. "You're going to make a fine lawyer, Mr. Barkley."

Jarrod stood a little straighter. "Thank you, sir," he said again.

Harkins rose to his feet and clapped the young man on the back. "Well, time to knock off for the day. Make sure everything is locked up."

"Yes, sir."

Jarrod waited for Harkins to don his coat and hat and leave the building before locking the door carefully behind him. He made sure the office was tidy before heading out the back, locking that door as well, and making his way up the back stairs to the small apartment above the office. He was grateful to the respected attorney for letting him use the living space on the second floor for only a nominal fee and even more grateful that the man was giving him the opportunity to read law in his office. He lit the stove to heat up a can of beans and the stewed turnips left over from the day before.

While he waited for his dinner to be ready, Jarrod sat on the rickety chair at the small table and penned a short letter to his mother. He'd sent word when he got settled; he didn't give any details but he wanted to let her know he was well and was starting to follow his dream. He looked at the bank draft she'd sent in her return missive and carefully tucked it into the envelope with his letter. He appreciated the gesture, but had resolved he was going to make it on his own without touching any of the Barkley money. The money he was saving by Harkins' generosity meant the meagre wage from his job in the mornings at the docks provided him with enough to cover the essentials. It wasn't the lifestyle he'd gotten used to over the past several years, but it was his from his own hard work and determination.

Jarrod pushed back his loneliness as he sealed the envelope and wrote the address on the front. He missed his mother; he missed his brother and his baby sister. He missed riding in the wide-open spaces; he even missed his day-to-day chores on the ranch. But when he'd accompanied Harkins into the courtroom and listened to his mentor's impassioned pleas for his client's life, Jarrod never thought he would feel an exhilaration to equal it until the verdict came down exonerating their client. Regrets and homesickness aside, Jarrod knew he was doing the right thing.

He studied a volume of case law that Harkins had assigned to him while he ate, cleaned up and got ready for bed. He lay on the hard cot and stared at the ceiling, wondering if his father missed him at all before he fell asleep.

.

Jarrod woke in a cold sweat. His heart was racing as he looked wildly around the room. Slowly, he recognized his surroundings as his lodgings in San Francisco and he took a deep breath as he tried to banish the horrific feeling of being trapped. He waited for the familiar nightmare of being stuck and unable to move to subside, but the claustrophobic feeling only intensified.

Then suddenly, he felt it. It wasn't the same nightmare of his accident, it was Nick. His brother was terrified. Jarrod coughed reflexively at the taste of dust-filled air. He could feel Nick's panic at being trapped in that dark space, at never being able to escape. Jarrod was again thrown back to that hellish time he'd been trapped under his horse and struggled to free himself from the memory.

Jarrod tossed off the covers and threw on his clothes. He rushed downstairs, wrote a hurried note to tell Harkins that he had to leave suddenly due to a family emergency and hoped he'd still have a position when he returned. He ran the fifteen or so blocks to the wharf and managed to locate Cal Parker. Breathlessly, he told his boss that his brother was in serious danger and he had to go to him. Parker could see the distress on the young man's face.

"Go," he ordered. "Take my horse, he's tethered out back."

Jarrod was speechless and managed to stutter a thank you.

Parker clapped him on the back. "You're a hard worker, son. Don't worry, your job will be waiting when you get back."

Jarrod grabbed his employer's hand and shook it vigorously before running to the back of the warehouse, untying the waiting horse's reins and vaulting into the saddle.

The trip was a blur. Looking after his mount's welfare was something that had been ingrained in Jarrod as long as he could remember, so he alternated the hard riding with periods of walking beside the black to give him a breather. He made his way almost on instinct and as he got closer to home, he received a stronger sense of his brother. He could feel Nick crying out to him and the determined young man focused on those feelings to try and get an idea of where Nick was.

A dark, damp hole. It wasn't a well, the shaft wasn't vertical. There was a hint of light and the occasional bit of fresh air. He could feel Nick try and try to push the heavy beam off his leg to no avail and yell again for help.

Jarrod suddenly knew where his twelve-year-old brother was. It was an old mine shaft that they used to play near, pretending it was a dragon's lair or Ali Baba's cave of treasures. Nick always wanted to go in and explore, but the more cautious older brother remembered the warnings about how unstable the abandoned mine was and had always been able to talk his more impetuous younger sibling out of the dangerous adventure. But Nick's thirst for adventure had obviously won out over caution and Jarrod hoped he'd be able to free him.

The shadows were lengthening into late afternoon when Jarrod arrived at the entrance to the mine.

"Nick!" he hollered. "Nick, can you hear me?" He listened and his belly clenched when he didn't hear a response. "Nick!"

Jarrod strained and when he heard the faint, "Get me out of here," he felt a wash of relief.

"I'm coming, Nick!" he called. He pushed his way through the debris that partially blocked the entrance. "Nick, talk to me," he said in a lower voice, not wanting to disturb the fragile state of the mine.

"Jarrod?' the hoarse voice came back. "Jarrod, I can't move. I can't feel my leg."

Jarrod scrambled over a large pile of rocks. "Hold on, Nick." He moved a few more cautious steps and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimming light. He caught a slight movement off to the side and made his way over to his brother. "Nick?" Jarrod said softly as he put a hand on the dust-covered shoulder.

"Jarrod…" Nick started to cough and Jarrod slipped an arm under his shoulders to raise him slightly. "Thanks." Jarrod gently lowered him when his breathing eased and moved to inspect the beam that pinned Nick's leg.

"If I can get this lifted, do you think you can pull yourself out?" he asked.

"I think so. But Jarrod," Nick worried, "it's awfully heavy."

"Don't worry," the older brother assured the younger. Jarrod eyed the large post. It was big, but he had no choice if he didn't want to leave Nick alone to get help and Nick had been there too long as it was. Taking a deep breath, Jarrod bent his knees and leaned over. He took a firm hold and ignored the rough splinters of wood that dug into his hands. "Okay, Nick," he said, "here goes." Jarrod prepared to lift the massive beam. The muscles he'd developed loading heavy freight over the past few months strained and trembled. The beam started to move inch by inch and he could hear the scrabbling as Nick scooted out from underneath as quickly as he could.

"I'm out," came the laboured call.

Jarrod slowly lowered the beam and rested his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. He walked over and collapsed beside his brother. "The leg?' he asked.

There was a long moment. "I can move my toes," Nick told him.

"Then let's get out of here." Jarrod helped Nick sit and pulled his brother's arm around his shoulders. He grabbed Nick's hand and put his own arm around him. Jarrod pulled both of them to their feet.

"Oh, dang, now it's starting to hurt!" Nick exclaimed, but he limped with Jarrod's help towards the entrance and Jarrod hoisted and pushed him over the debris. The sun was sinking below the horizon as they made it into the fresh air.

"Darned horse must've taken off," Nick grumbled and Jarrod chuckled in relief as he massaged the circulation back into the formerly trapped and thankfully unbroken leg.

"If that's all we've got to worry about, brother Nick, then we're doing pretty good." Jarrod boosted Nick into the saddle of the borrowed black. He knew the horse was tired from the long ride and opted to walk instead of making the animal carry double.

"I knew you'd come, Jarrod," Nick said after a few minutes. "Even if I was found before you got there, I knew you'd come."

Jarrod was warmed by the faith his brother showed. Even though Nick was four years younger, they had always been close.

"I've missed you."

Jarrod swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked up at Nick. "I've missed you too."

"Are you gonna be staying home?" There was a hopeful look on his brother's face and Jarrod had to look away as he shook his head.

"I don't think I can."

A heavy sigh came from the youth on top the horse. "Why don't you want to work on the ranch, Jarrod? We always had a good time on roundup and branding and stuff."

"I can't really explain it, Nick." The older brother tried to put his feelings into words. "I do like working on the ranch, but that's not where my heart is." He looked back up at Nick. "I mean, my heart will always be with you and the rest of the family, I can't even begin to tell you how much I've missed you, but..." He groped for the right words.

"But you want to be a lawyer and make things right."

Jarrod felt something ease inside him at Nick's wide grin. His brother did understand and didn't resent him for leaving. "Yeah."

The rest of the journey home was occupied with stories of happenings in the valley, tales of their little sister's antics and what Jarrod had been up to in San Francisco. It made Jarrod glad to see the pride on his brother's face when he described the job he had on the docks and how he was helping prepare for trials and draw up contracts. Nick made sure Jarrod saw the spurs he'd been give by their father, slightly dusty but still firmly attached to his boots. It strengthened Jarrod to know that, no matter what, he and Nick would always be as close as it was possible for brothers to be.

It had been full dark for a while by the time the brothers arrived at the ranch buildings. Jarrod stopped the weary horse in front of the house and made his own tired body support Nick's weight as he slid out of the saddle. Nick leaned into him as he hobbled across the porch. Jarrod turned the handle and pushed open the big oak door. He wasn't sure what sort of reception he was going to get, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from helping his brother as much as he could.

A lamp was burning in the foyer and the fire in the hearth spread a warm glow through the room. Jarrod and Nick both looked up at the rustle of fabric as their mother came in through the kitchen.

"Nick!" she cried. She rushed over and took his grimy face in her hands and kissed him. "Everyone's been out looking for you and I've been frantic! Where have you been?"

Jarrod stood to the side, feeling a bit uncomfortable until Victoria turned to him. "Thank you for…" she started until she realized who it was. "Jarrod?" she said, shocked.

"Hello, Mother," he said quietly.

"Oh, Jarrod!" she exclaimed and hugged both of her sons tightly. "How did you find him?"

Jarrod shrugged in her embrace. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think Nick's wore out. I know I am."

Victoria turned a concerned glance on her youngest son. "Are you hurt, Nick?"

"Just my leg," he told her, "but it's not too bad."

Victoria gave him a stern look. "Your father's still out looking, but I'm going to send someone for Dr. Merar. And both of you need a bath and a hot meal." She reached out and cupped each of their cheeks as her expression softened. "It's so good to have you both home, safe and sound."

Jarrod felt his mother's unconditional love and had to hold back a tear. He'd missed her so much when he was gone. It felt so right to be back home that he started to reconsider his decision to leave. Maybe it was worth giving up his dream of being a lawyer to be with his family again; after all, it wasn't as if he hated ranching. Victoria hustled them both upstairs and the conflict in Jarrod's heart grew. He was tired, he told himself, and hungry. He could decide what he was going to do later. For the moment at least, he would enjoy just being home again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jarrod was grateful his mother had kept his things in his room after he'd left as he put on clean clothes after his bath. He didn't feel like he could sleep yet, so he chose a plain pair of pants and shirt. As he was fastening the buttons, a knot of anxiety grew in his stomach when heard the familiar sound of his father's tread in the hall. He didn't want a repeat of the confrontation from the day he left. But as he stood there, mustering the courage to leave his room, Jarrod realized he didn't want to avoid it. If he couldn't stand firm in front of his father, face-to-face, how could he ever expect to confront opposing council or a hostile witness in the courtroom? Even if he did decide to stay on the ranch, he had to stand up for himself or he'd lose his own self-respect, never mind gaining the respect of his father.

Jarrod took a deep breath and opened the door. He met his father coming out of Nick's room.

"How is he?" Jarrod asked in a steady voice.

"Sleeping," was the curt reply.

Jarrod could feel Tom's steel blue eyes boring into him. His father's stare had intimidated many a grown man, but in that moment, it only served to fuel his son's resolve. He stood his ground. "It's good to see you, Father."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "So finally came to your senses and came home, Jarrod? Realized you couldn't do it on your own?"

Jarrod bristled, but kept his irritation off his face. "I came because of Nick," he said evenly.

"Jarrod, you couldn't have even known," Tom scoffed. "Don't try to make excuses."

Jarrod kept a firm rein on his simmering temper. "Father, Nick's been through a lot. If we're going to do this, we should go downstairs so we don't wake him up." Jarrod didn't wait for an answer, he just turned abruptly and walked downstairs, making sure to keep half a step in front of the taller man. The brief exchange made him realize that he couldn't turn back and return to work on the family ranch. The only way to prove to his father he was a man was to act like one. Tom Barkley never compromised his ideals for what anyone else thought. Jarrod knew that was something he was proud to admit that he and his father shared, even though Tom had lost some of Jarrod's respect through his callous treatment and hard-headed opposition to his son's choices.

Victoria was waiting for them downstairs. She took a step forward to embrace her son, but stopped when she saw the rigid set of his shoulders. He was different, she realized. Gone was the appearance of youth that she remembered; in front of her stood a man, a young man, but a man all the same. It had only been a couple months, but she knew without a doubt that Jarrod was coming into his own.

She saw the hard expression on her husband's face. Tom wasn't willing to admit that Jarrod needed to set his own path in life and her heart quailed to think that the rift in her family was something that might not be overcome. She loved both of them and hoped she could mediate some sort of understanding. However, she knew how stubborn Tom was. Victoria remembered trying to get him to ease up on Jarrod after the accident two years ago. But Tom wouldn't listen and Jarrod turned away, avoiding ranch work when he could and immersing himself more and more in academic pursuits.

She'd been brokenhearted when she found Jarrod's note the morning after he'd left, but realized she should have seen it coming. The guilt she felt over not being able to make Tom understand warred with the pride in her son for striking out on his own and that pride swelled as she saw the confident man now standing in front of her.

"It's good to have you home, son," she said. "Are you here for long?"

She noted the sideways look Jarrod gave his father. "No, Mother," he said and she could see the sadness as he tried to smile. "I knew Nick was in trouble and I had to come. The horse I borrowed needs rest, so I'll stay until the morning, but I have to get back to my job."

Tom turned on his heel and strode quickly through the door to the library. Jarrod closed his eyes, but not before Victoria saw the pain of his father's rejection in them. She took the two steps up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Give him time, Jarrod," she told the young man softly. "He'll realize that he has a son to be proud of, even if your path in life doesn't match with what he envisioned for you." She eyed him carefully. "Are you getting along okay? I hope you're taking care of yourself and getting enough to eat."

Jarrod kissed her cheek. "Other than having to eat my own cooking, I'm fine, Mother. I'm making enough to get by." He gave her that smile that she loved so well. "I know I've made the right choice. The work I have at the law office is exactly what I want to be doing and where I need to be. I just wish…"

Victoria saw the glitter of tears in his eyes. "I miss you too, sweetheart. In spite of what happened between you and your father, this will always be your home."

Enfolding her in a warm hug, Jarrod said, "I love you, Mother."

She wrapped her arms around him. "I love you too. Now why don't you go sit with your brother if you're not going to sleep?"

He nodded and Victoria watched as he headed up the stairs. She then went into the library and found her husband staring into a glass of amber whiskey.

"What's the matter with that boy, Vic?' Tom asked. His arm moved in a wide sweeping gesture. "Isn't all I built here good enough for him?"

Victoria fought the urge to slap the self-righteous expression off Tom's face. Instead, she said coolly, "There's nothing wrong with Jarrod, Tom, other than the fact that he's his father's son."

"His…?" Tom snorted. "Now that's a laugh." He took a swig of his drink.

"Is it, Tom?" Victoria challenged. "Jarrod is doing what he knows is right, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Our son is out there, making a life of his own rather than tamely doing what someone else wants of him. Isn't that what you did when you came out west?"

Tom slammed the glass on the table. "It's not the same thing at all!" he snapped. "I had nothing, came from nothing. What did I build all this for if it wasn't for my family and my sons?"

"So your just going to condemn your son for not grovelling at your feet and thanking you for letting him live in your shadow?" Victoria snapped back. "I for one am proud that my son has the guts to stand on his own two feet. If you drive him away, Tom, so he never comes back, I'll never forgive you."

With a swish of skirts, Victoria turned and marched out of the room. She paused for a moment and sagged against the wall before gathering herself together and heading upstairs to check on her sons. She smiled when she opened the door and saw Jarrod in the chair beside Nick's bed, his brother's hand in his. Both of her boys were sound asleep and Victoria moved quietly to get a quilt and drape it over her eldest. She placed kisses on both brows and stole out of the room as quietly as she came.

Tom didn't come to bed that night and he was gone the next morning. Biting back her disappointment, Victoria took a tray with breakfast up to Nick's room and was pleased to see her younger son awake. She wasn't pleased that his older brother had to forcibly push him back into the bed.

"Nick," Jarrod was saying, "if Mother catches you trying to get up, she's liable to come after you with her wooden spoon."

"Jarrod's right," she told them as she set down the tray and turned a stern look on Nick. "Dr. Merar sent word that he'd be out soon and I don't want you stirring from that bed until he says it's okay."

"Yes, Mother," Nick muttered, eyes downcast.

"Now I bet you're both starving." She saw them both look over to the food. "Eat up, you two. If you're still hungry, Jarrod can come down and get you some more." She left them to their meal, knowing the brothers probably needed a bit more time alone. Going down the back stairs, Victoria stopped at the small closet at the bottom and pulled out a set of saddlebags that were stored there. With Tom unwilling to see his son's side of things, Victoria knew it would be futile to try and talk Jarrod into staying.

She packed the saddlebags full of essentials; cured sausage, canned beans and fruit, some rolls from the previous day's baking wrapped in a napkin along with a few of his favourite cookies. She went back upstairs and took some blankets out of the closet before going into Jarrod's room and pulling a few items of clothing out of his dresser. Those she rolled tightly into the blanket and took downstairs before wrapping the whole bundle in a waterproof sheet of canvas. Then she poured herself a cup of coffee, sat at the table and waited.

Jarrod came downstairs about half an hour later with the remains of breakfast. "Nick fell asleep again," he said as he set the tray on the table. "I guess he's still pretty tired."

Victoria could see the dark circles under Jarrod's eyes and the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. "You look tired yourself."

Jarrod gave her a small smile. "I'll be okay." He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I should get going. They won't keep my job for me forever."

Victoria nodded and rose to her feet. "Write when you get there so I know you're okay," she ordered, fighting back a tear as she handed him the saddlebags and bedroll.

"Yes, Mother," Jarrod affirmed as he took the supplies gratefully. He took a step towards the door before turning back and holding her tightly. "A part of me will always stay here," he whispered and then he opened the door and stepped outside, shutting it behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Jarrod felt a glow of satisfaction as his client shook his hand heartily before leaving the courtroom. The civil suit was the first case Harkins had let him handle all on his own and having the judge decide in his client's favour was a big boost to the fledgling attorney's ego.

"Well-played, Barkley." Jarrod looked up at the laughing hazel eyes and cocky grin. "But next time I'll be ready for you."

Jarrod chuckled as he gathered up his papers. "If I were you, Brett, I'd just advise your client to give up gracefully when you see my name opposite yours on the docket."

"I was thinking I could buy you a drink to celebrate," Brett Skyler suggested slyly. "Maybe if I get you drunk enough, you'll share the secrets of your success with me."

Jarrod thought for a moment. He had to be at the docks early the next morning, but trading strategies and tricks with another law student would only be beneficial to both of them. "How about tomorrow night?" he suggested as a compromise.

"Sounds good." Brett named a not-too shabby place near the warehouse district and Jarrod readily agreed.

.

.

When Jarrod arrived the next evening, the sandy-haired young man had grabbed a table in the middle of the room. He signalled the bartender to bring another glass when he spotted Jarrod. "I ordered us some food, too," he said as Jarrod sat down. He filled the glass when it was placed in front of Jarrod. "So what do we drink to?"

Jarrod picked up the glass and watched the amber liquid swirl around. "How about to law and justice for starters?"

"Law and justice." The two young men drank and debated cases and precedents all through dinner. Lingering over the cigars Brett produced from his pocket, Brett flashed Jarrod a grin.

"Hey, Jarrod, have you seen how those gals have been checking us out?"

Jarrod turned in the direction Brett indicated. A couple of heavily made up women sporting the short skirts and low necklines of working girls were looking their way. Both gave them a frankly provocative appraisal and Jarrod turned back to see Brett give the girls a brazen wink.

"Brett…" he protested, but Brett just gave him another rakish grin.

"Ah, don't worry, Jarrod, I've got it covered." He took out his billfold and tossed some money on the table before taking out a few more bills and tucking them into the girls' décolletage when they came over. He stood and took the arm of the brunette. "Take care of my friend," he told the blonde and Jarrod heard the brunette giggle when Brett pinched her ample derriere as they made their way across the room and up the stairs.

"My room's upstairs, too," the blonde said in a husky voice.

Jarrod sighed as he sipped his whiskey. "Not tonight."

"I'll make it worth your while," she purred as she ran a hand over his shoulder. Jarrod shook his head and she pouted as she flounced away.

Swallowing the liquor in one gulp, Jarrod remembered the one time he'd solicited the services of one of the soiled doves in the city. He'd wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but when he discovered after talking to her that she was only there because she had no choice but to leave home, not because that was what she wanted, he vowed never to do it again.

_Just another reason I'll never be the way Tom Barkley thinks a man should be,_ he told himself that his father had ever taken him to any of his favourite sporting houses, but he'd overheard the talk in the bunkhouse and his father bragging about the women he'd spent time with. _Such a great man, husband and father_, _I'm sure he would've been upstairs in a heartbeat. Is that really what he thinks a man should be? _was Jarrod's cynical thought._ I wonder what the good folks of Stockton would say if they knew the real Tom Barkley._

Jarrod tossed a coin on the table to pay for the drinks and left the saloon. He didn't feel like going home and started walking, lost in thoughts of how ironic it was that he still craved the respect of a man he'd lost most of his respect for.

The sun was rising when Jarrod found himself among the homes of the affluent on Nob Hill. He heard the sound of voices rising in song and when he saw the church as he rounded a corner, his feet took him up the steps and he sat quietly in the deserted back pew. The sermon was already underway; the well-dressed patrons occupied the seats near the front and Jarrod hoped that his less prosperous attire would go unnoticed.

He hadn't attended Sunday services since he'd come to the city, using the luxury of a day off to catch up on his rest and pour over the law books Harkins assigned to him. As he listened, he thought how appropriate it was that the teaching for the day was the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Jarrod held back bitter tears as the priest talked about love and forgiveness; he didn't think his father would ever welcome him back with open arms.

"…with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love." The priest bent his head with his final words and gestured to the choir. The stirring sound of voices rose again in harmony as the church's patrons filed out into the morning sunshine.

The words of the hymn resonated through Jarrod's being.

.

_Just as I am, without one plea, _

_but that thy blood was shed for me, _

_and that thou bidst me come to thee, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

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_Just as I am, and waiting not _

_to rid my soul of one dark blot, _

_to thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

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_Just as I am, though tossed about _

_with many a conflict, many a doubt, _

_fightings and fears within, without, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

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_Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind; _

_sight, riches, healing of the mind, _

_yea, all I need in thee to find, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

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_Just as I am, thou wilt receive, _

_wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; _

_because thy promise I believe, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

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_Just as I am, thy love unknown _

_hath broken every barrier down; _

_now, to be thine, yea thine alone, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come._

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He was who he was, Jarrod realized. His life's path was taking him in a different direction than Tom envisioned for his eldest son, but that didn't make him any less of a man. He hoped and prayed that someday his father would understand, but at the same time, wondered why he even cared.

The priest gave him a kind look upon re-entering the church and left him alone. Jarrod sat in the welcoming silence and came to a tentative peace with himself as one of the verses of the hymn echoed in his mind.

.

_Just as I am, thou wilt receive, _

_wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve; _

_because thy promise I believe, _

_O Lamb of God, I come, I come. _

_._

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Ephesians 4:2 "with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love"

The hymn is _Just __As __I __Am __Without__ One__ Plea_, words by Charlotte Elliott, 1835, music by William Bradbury, 1849.


	5. Chapter 5

Jarrod read the newspaper clipping posted on the message board at the city courthouse again.

.

_Cavalry Company for the East._

_The undersigned has been authorized by the Secretary of War to raise a company of Cavalry for service in the East to make part of the Massachusetts quota._

_A Roll of the company is at Assembly Hall, corner of Post and Kearny Streets, where persons desirous of joining can enroll their names._

_No one need apply who is not a good horseman and in good health. Men from the country preferred. The Roll will be kept open a reasonable time before selections are made._

_All expenses will be paid as soon as accepted._

_Further particulars apply to Office, corner Post and Kearny Street._

_J. Sewall Reed_

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"You can't be seriously thinking of signing up, Jarrod."

Jarrod didn't turn around. He easily recognized the urbane tone. "I might be, Nat."

He heard a snort of derision and turned around to find Nat Springer accompanied by Brett and Phil Archer. The four of them had met over the years as they studied law with their respective mentors and had been recently admitted to the California bar to become licensed attorneys. He and Brett had even talked about setting up a law practice together.

"C'mon, Barkley," Phil scoffed. "All you have to do is go back and make nice with your rich daddy and you'll be set for life. Why would you want to put that life on the line for a war clear across the country?"

Jarrod didn't bother to answer. He knew Phil from Stockton, but the two had never been friends and Jarrod didn't feel a need to justify himself.

"Might be a good idea," Brett mused, "assuming I was a good enough horseman to even have a chance. And assuming I didn't like my warm, comfortable bed so much."

Nat and Phil laughed and Jarrod smiled slightly. "Well, since I don't have anything left on my schedule today, I'm going home. I'll probably see you Thursday, that's the next time I have a court appearance scheduled."

"See you, Jarrod," Brett and Nat told him. Phil only glowered.

But Jarrod's feet didn't take him to his lodgings. Instead, they took him to the Assembly Hall at the corner of Post and Kearny. Inside, he saw a man at a wooden table with a stack of papers in front of him. "Can I help you, son?"

Jarrod nodded. "I was wondering, sir, if this is where I can register my name for the cavalry company Mr. Reed is raising."

The man scrutinized him carefully. "You seem to be in good health. Do you ride?"

"I was raised on a ranch, sir," Jarrod answered politely.

"Hmm." The man pushed a paper across the table to Jarrod along with a pen and inkwell. "Sign here, son. Name, age and place of residence. We have many more names than we need, so we'll be making selections based on horsemanship and skill with a firearm this Saturday at the field outside Hanson's Livery, 6 AM sharp. Do you know where that is?"

Jarrod wrote out his name. "I'll find it, sir. Thank you."

It was a long walk back to the small back room he called home and it gave Jarrod time to think about the events that had torn apart his country over the past two years. South Carolina seceding from the union, followed by the other southern states. Confederate forces attacking Fort Sumter. The call to arms from the Union and the massacre at Bull Run. Grant's victory at the Battle of Shiloh. A second defeat to the Union at Bull Run. The recent removal of General McClellan in disgrace. Jarrod had followed the progress of the war in the papers and thought about joining up more than once. But volunteers from the West were usually only stationed in the West - fighting Indians, guarding wagon trains, or doing garrison duty to free up regular Army troops and Jarrod decided to concentrate on his studies instead.

However, with the formation of a proposed cavalry unit to fight with the Massachusetts regiment, Jarrod knew it was time for him to join the war effort. He believed in what President Lincoln was trying to do, to preserve the sanctity of the Union and bring about the abolishment of slavery. By volunteering, he could truly back up his convictions and fight for every man's right to freedom, for the ability to chose one's own course in life.

Jarrod gave a good accounting of himself that Saturday morning and wasn't surprised to see his name on the list of those who were accepted. Captain Reed informed them that their ship was to leave in one week on the first of December and gave them a list of equipment they needed to supply.

That evening, Jarrod sat at the table in his room and started writing. He didn't want to worry her, but he had to tell his mother what he was about to do. Men were dying on the battlefields of the east and Jarrod couldn't leave for what was an uncertain future without telling her how much he loved her. He also included a letter for Nick, telling his brother how he hoped they would be able to ride together through the Valley someday soon.

.

The week went by in a flash. The company trained hard, causing Jarrod to almost collapse from exhaustion at the day's end except for the one night Brett took him out to celebrate, where his friend reminded him that they couldn't hang their shingles together if he got himself killed.

The morning of December 1 dawned bright and clear. A sharp wind was blowing in across the Bay as Jarrod arrived at the docks. A crowd of well-wishers was already gathered and Jarrod couldn't help a pang of envy at those of his comrades whose families were there to see them off. He was about to make his solitary way up the gangplank when a voice calling out his name made him turn around.

"Mother?" he said in surprise. He almost couldn't believe it was really her.

A smile came across Victoria Barkley's face and it warmed Jarrod's heart, even though he could see her worry.

"I couldn't let you go without seeing you off," she said. Jarrod crossed the distance between them and gathered her into a fierce hug.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I wish I could tell you everything's going to be okay, but all I can do is promise you that I'll do my best to come back safely."

Victoria pulled back and took his face in her hands. "Your best will always be good enough for me, son. Make sure and write when you get the chance."

Jarrod had to ask, even though he already guessed the answer. "Did Father say anything?" He saw his mother bite back a tear as she shook her head.

"No, but he didn't try to stop me from coming when I told him what I was doing." She reached into her bag and pulled out a cloth-wrapped object. "Nick sent you this."

Jarrod unwrapped it and found a knife in a plain leather sheath.

"He made the sheath himself," Victoria said with pride.

Jarrod was hard pressed to contain his emotions. "Tell him thank you," he whispered.

The ship's whistle blew, signalling the men it was time to board.

"I have to go," Jarrod whispered and hugged her again.

"I know, Jarrod. I love you and I'm so proud of you."

Jarrod kissed his mother gently and turned back to walk up the gangplank. He didn't turn around. He didn't want her to see the tears that were slowly making their way down his cheeks.

.

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Information on the California Hundred can be found at the website www dot 2massreunioncivilwar dot com


	6. Chapter 6

_Several years later…_

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"Dammit, Jarrod!" Tom Barkley slammed his fist down on the desk in front of his oldest son. Years of not wanting to show weakness in front of the man who already thought him weak no matter how hard he tried helped Jarrod not to flinch. Instead, he just pretended to concentrate on the papers in front of him as Tom's tirade continued. "While you were up in that hick town, defending some no-good rustler, Jordan managed to get a judge to back his actions! You're a part of this family, boy, a Barkley, and our interests come first!"

"Mr. Lawson was wrongly accused, Father," Jarrod said, not looking up. He was proud of how steady his voice was. "What was I going to do? Stand aside, let them hang him and leave his wife and little girl all alone?"

"You could stand up and be a man, Jarrod!" Tom paced furiously across the room and turned to glare at his son. "This is what I get for giving in to your mother and letting you stay inside with your nose in a book instead of out there, working the ranch! Our ranch!"

Jarrod gritted his teeth. He hadn't started to 'stay inside with his nose in a book' of his own free will. His father seemed to forget that his son had wanted to get back on the ranch, but it was Tom who had driven him away.

The senior Barkley stormed back over to lean across the desk. "You should have been out there, protecting your family's land! What's one more low-life dirt grubber compared to standing up for your rights?"

Jarrod's temper started to boil. Could his father really have forgotten that they were once the same as that low-life dirt grubber? Had the power and prestige of being Tom Barkley wiped away the memory of the hours of backbreaking labour when they were starting out, trying to make something of this land? Jarrod remembered. He remembered hoeing the soil as a small boy so they could grow enough to eat, pulling weeds until his back ached, going to bed tired and hungry with little to show for the hard work while Tom was out wheeling and dealing for the most profit. He met his father's stare with an icy blue one of his own.

"I was standing up for my rights, Father," he said hotly. "Mine as well as my client's."

"I'm head of this family, Jarrod, and you're living under my roof," Tom snarled. "So you just need to…"

Jarrod couldn't take any more. He surged to his feet and met his father face to face. "I need to what? I'm not one of your lackeys; I'm my own man! I worked hard to get where I am without touching a cent of your money and I'll be damned if I let you dictate my life! And if living under your roof means taking your orders…" Jarrod snagged his papers from the desk. "Well, that's easy enough to fix."

Tom grabbed Jarrod's arm and stopped him from leaving the room. "We're not done with this," he warned. "I've to got to meet with some of our neighbours to see if we can't stop Jordan, but we'll finish this when I get back."

Jarrod pulled out of his father's grip and walked out, not looking back. He went up to his room, closed the door and locked it for good measure.

Tom's words echoed in his head. _You could stand up and be a man, Jarrod!_ He rubbed his bruised ribs that were the result of the beating he took up in Pinewood when he had to defend his client with his fists. He'd given as good as he got and prevented those men from lynching an innocent man before he could even have a trial. If that wasn't standing up and being a man, then he wasn't sure what was. But it would never be good enough in his father's eyes, not unless he gave up his law practice and joined Nick in helping run the ranch.

_Be true to yourself_. Jarrod remembered overhearing Tom say that to Nick when Nick was criticized for turning good grazing land into orchards. Obviously, those words only applied when being true to one's self meant doing what the great Tom Barkley wanted.

Jarrod pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, remembering when he'd made the decision to come home. The war had been long and gruelling, with only infrequent letters from his mother making it through. The young lawyer was concerned when he learned his younger brother had enlisted as well and was relieved when he saw Nick's name on a list of those mustered out at the conflict's end. He was heartsick after all he'd seen and the court martial of his friend Matt only made it worse.

Jarrod started to pack his things as the bitter memory came back.

Julia Saxon, beautiful, talented and a spy for the South, had set her sights on the handsome young attorney and when Jarrod declared his love for her, she turned away from him to Matt Parker. He'd fallen for her wiles and unwittingly passed on sensitive information, only to be charged with treason. Jarrod knew if he hadn't told her that he loved her, she never would have ensnared Matt. He didn't consider that he would likely have been the one court martialed, and he might have been the one 'accidentally' killed while cleaning his gun.

In the aftermath of the court martial, Jarrod received a letter from Nick. His brother sounded as sickened by war as he was and Jarrod couldn't resist his plea to return with him to Stockton, hoping that his distinguished service and commendations would soften his father's attitude.

But that wasn't to be. He could have worked in his choice of firms back east and his devotion to the law would have been lauded. Instead, he only found scorn and derision from his father for his choices, a rancher brother who tried to understand why he would rather be in a courtroom than out on the range, a little sister who was in tears when her father yelled at her brother and his mother saddened from being caught in the middle.

He couldn't live under the same roof as his father any more, that had been made abundantly clear. His mother would be heartbroken again and Jarrod hated to do that to her, but he did have to try and be true to his beliefs. The valley's fight with the railroad was important, but so was a man's life. He could finally devote all his time to the matter at hand now that the trial was over but he still wasn't going to give in.

Jarrod took his time gathering up his things. He wasn't looking forward to telling his mother he was leaving, but knew he had to explain before he left. Jarrod snapped the suitcase shut, put on his coat and picked up his hat before going downstairs.

"Jarrod, are you leaving again so soon?" Victoria asked when she met him in the foyer.

Jarrod opened his mouth to explain when the door burst open. "Mr. Jarrod, Mrs. Barkley, come quick," the trembling ranch hand told them. Jarrod and Victoria exchanged worried glances and followed the man outside. A wagon was pulled up in front of the house and the ranch foreman moved to block their way.

"Mrs. Barkley, you don't need to…"

She pushed past him and when saw what was lying on the wagon bed, she gasped and buried her head against her son's chest. Jarrod held his mother tightly as he stared unbelieving at the body of his father. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and his face was pale and waxy in death. _At least someone closed his eyes,_ was Jarrod's first thought.

"It was an ambush," the foreman explained to the young man. "Your daddy was meeting with Jim Sample and a few others when the shooting started. It wasn't anything other than cold-blooded murder, pure and simple. A few of us were close enough to the wagons, but the rest…" The man shook his head. "They never stood a chance."

"What do you want us to do, Mr. Barkley?" the young hand asked respectfully.

"Take him upstairs to the first guest room," Jarrod instructed before the man's term of address truly sank in. Mr. Barkley. The title once reserved for his father had now been passed on to him. And Jarrod knew he didn't deserve it. It was his fault his father was dead. If he had done what Tom wanted and concentrated on the fight with the railroad, this wouldn't have happened. A stranger in Pinewood might have hung, but his father would still be here, alive. If he'd been the man his father wanted him to be…

Jarrod started shaking and quickly locked it down. He couldn't do it. He couldn't let himself fall apart. His mother needed him, his brother and sister would need him, the valley needed him. Unworthy as he was, it was his duty to step up into his father's place.

But as he watched the body of Tom Barkley be carried into the house, his heart cried out in anguish in spite of all the troubles they'd had between them. _I'm sorry, Father,_ it wailed, _I let you down. Oh, God, I'm so sorry._


	7. Chapter 7

The shadows were growing long and Jarrod could barely make out the hulk of the dead steer. He listened and watched, but the only noise was the slight crack of a stick when his companion shifted.

"Nick, you really think that bear's going to come if it knows we're here?" he scolded in a low voice.

"Ah," said Nick dismissively. "A bear that's been getting in as close as this one to kill our cattle ain't gonna be worried by us. He ain't had a chance to find out how good of a shot we are."

Jarrod couldn't help but agree and settled into a more comfortable position. It could be hours before the marauding animal showed up, if it even showed up at all.

"Thanks for coming out here with me, Jarrod," Nick said after a few minutes.

"A rogue bear isn't anything to take lightly and I know you've been shorthanded," Jarrod responded.

Nick continued to stare into the deepening gloom. "Yeah, but I know you've been busy, getting a handle on all the other parts of Father's business interests. Don't think I haven't noticed how tired you are when you come home from a week in 'Frisco or that the lamps in the library are burning way past when they should." Nick reached out and lightly cuffed Jarrod on the shoulder. "You need to take care of yourself, Pappy. I couldn't run this place without you and that's a fact."

Jarrod felt a bit of warmth at Nick's statement. "Thanks, Nick," he replied quietly. Ever since their father's death, he'd been trying to hold things together. He managed an injunction against the railroad and it seemed as though the threat to the valley's farmers had faded away, at least temporarily. He made his way through the jumble of papers and receipts that were the records his father kept for the family's businesses and convinced investors and business partners that everything was in capable hands. He backed Nick in any decision his younger brother made with regards to the ranch without question, knowing Nick needed his unwavering support in running such a large operation. He stepped in as a father figure for his sister and gave his mother a strong shoulder to cry on.

But it was just a façade. It didn't matter that he was torn apart inside over feeling responsible for his father's death and the too-heavy burden placed on too-young shoulders. Jarrod had to act like he was in control and be the strong ruling voice of the family and unfaltering defender of his friends' and neighbours' rights. It was the hand that he'd been dealt and he had no choice but to play it out. But he still wondered if, given the choice, his brother would rather have their father beside him and himself in that cold, dark grave instead.

Nick sensed that there was something up with his big brother. Jarrod hadn't been quite the same since their father's death. They had missed out on too many years while Jarrod was studying law and during the War, but there had always been an unshakable bond between the two of them that time and distance hadn't changed.

Thinking further, Nick realized Jarrod hadn't had much of a reaction to their father's death. Nick had gotten drunk about a week after the funeral, finally letting his anger and heartache surface, but Jarrod only calmly bailed him out of jail and listened with a supportive ear as Nick vented his grief on the ride home. He couldn't recall a time that Jarrod had given any visible show of how Tom's death had affected him and felt a deep sense of guilt. They were all taking advantage of how easily it seemed Jarrod had stepped into the role of head of the family and Nick wondered if they had ever given Jarrod a chance to show his own feelings.

"Y'know, with the fights you and Father were having, I was kinda surprised you came home after that case you had in Pinewood," he said in an attempt to broach the subject.

"I was packed to leave the afternoon he was shot," came the quiet response.

Nick looked over to see Jarrod staring off into the distance. "Y'know, it's okay if you're not sure how to feel. I mean, you and Father weren't exactly on good terms." Which, in Nick's mind, was the understatement of the year. He almost worshipped his father, except where his treatment of his older brother was concerned. He might not completely understand why Jarrod would rather spend his day in a courtroom rather than out on the range, but that didn't diminish the respect and love he had for his sibling. Just like when the offer came to help him take care of this bear, Nick knew Jarrod would always have his back whether he asked or not.

"But he was still my father, Nick. If I had only…" Jarrod cut off what he was going to say and shook his head.

Nick gripped Jarrod's shoulder firmly. "You did what you needed to do, Jarrod. Father always told me a man needs to stand up for what he believes in. All you did was follow his advice; he was just too stubborn and pig-headed to see it. If Father would've listened to you and gone by the law, he'd still be alive. Don't keep beating yourself up, Pappy. You know I'll always be here for you if you need me, just like you've stood by me."

Jarrod reached up to clasp Nick's hand. "Thanks," he said again.

Suddenly, a large shape loomed out of the darkness and headed towards the dead steer. Both men raised their rifles and both guns echoed simultaneously. The shape fell heavily and didn't move.

Jarrod and Nick slowly rose from their hiding spot and cautiously walked over to the dead beast. The brown hulk had to weigh at least 900 pounds

Nick whistled, even as he felt a pang of regret for the death of such a magnificent animal. "That's one big bear. Reckon that hide would make a great a rug in your office, counsellor."

"As long as you put the head in the library," Jarrod countered. "A noble beast like that should be remembered. It probably took both our shots to take him down." The waste of that life saddened him, necessary as it was. On one hand, the ferocious animal had been a threatening presence. Cattle were the backbone of the Valley and one never knew when killing livestock would turn into killing people. On the other hand, the bear's power and tenacity had to be admired. Jarrod couldn't help but see a similarity between the bear and his father. Everything came to an end at some point, he thought, no matter how great. Power didn't make one invincible or even respected. The power of a bear taking down a stag could be admired, but if it killed a bull it was reviled. A man was looked up to for standing his ground in the face of an adversary, but that same iron-will could be used to intimidate someone thought of as weaker. "C'mon, Nick," he said, wondering if he'd ever be deserving of the respect bestowed on his father, his brother, or even a feared grizzly. "Let's head home and grab a wagon."

.

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_The last California golden bear (Ursus arctos californicus) was reportedly shot in 1922. More information on California's state animal can be found at .com/states/symb/animals/ca_grizzly__


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This is where canon starts and where it and this story begin to part ways._

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_Six years later…_

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"Good job in there, Nick."

His brother's hearty slap on the back and words of praise made Nick puff up proudly. Combined with the heady accolade of being voted president of the San Joaquin Cattlemen's Association, Nick's stride was almost a strut as he and Jarrod walked across the street to retrieve their horses.

"Thanks, Pappy," Nick practically crowed as they swung into their saddles. The thunderous acclimation from his peers, men who were decades older than the young rancher still reverberated in his mind and Nick basked in the glory of his achievement as they headed for home. He wouldn't have been able to wipe the cocky grin off his face even if he'd wanted to.

"Father would be very proud of you," Jarrod added quietly after a few minutes. "All the hopes and dreams for his sons bundled into one big, bold package."

Nick looked over to his older brother. Jarrod had a smile on his face, but there was a wistfulness in his blue eyes and a note of regret in his deep voice. Nick sighed. So caught up in the heady rush of his own achievement, he hadn't given a thought to his brother's feelings. Even though he'd earned the same respect as a lawyer and businessman that the townsfolk had held for Tom, Nick knew Jarrod felt that he had been a failure and disappointment to their father.

"He'd be proud of you too, Jarrod."

Jarrod gave his brother a small smile. "I know better, Nick. Nothing else would do but for Tom Barkley's eldest to follow in his footsteps. But, you, Nick," he said with a forced cheer, "you are everything he wanted. And a darned good brother to boot."

Nick accepted Jarrod's sidestepping, but family was everything and he didn't want to see his beloved brother beat himself up over something that couldn't be changed. "And you're a darned good man to have by my side, Jarrod. I don't think I could've stepped into Father's shoes without knowing you believed I could do it." Nick let the matter drop, too pleased with himself to dwell on past disappointments. "C'mon, race you home. Can't wait to tell Mother and Audra the good news."

He dug his heels in his horse's side and slapped him with the reins, letting out a raucous "Yee-ahh!" as Coco took off down the road. Jarrod smiled and urged Jingo after him and soon they thundered through the wrought iron gate leading to the house.

"Pay up, Nick," Jarrod told the dark haired rancher as they dismounted and led their sweaty horses into the barn.

"And why would I do that?" Nick growled good-naturedly.

"Because Jingo beat Coco by a nose," Jarrod pointed out as he loosened the girth and pulled the saddle from the sorrel's back. "I think the typical wager is five dollars?"

"Well, that may be, but I know for a fact Coco and I were through the gate first," Nick shot back. "Hey, Duke!" he called to the ranch foreman as the older man walked by the open door. "Did you see who was first?"

Duke stopped and turned, pushing his hat off his weather-beaten face as he regarded the brothers in amusement, well aware of the friendly rivalry. "Nope, can't say as I did. Hey, Thomson," he called over his shoulder, "you were close to the gate, who came in first, the chestnut or the sorrel?"

"Reckon it was the sorrel," came a soft drawl from somewhere outside, "chestnut's stride seemed to be breaking a little."

"Told you, brother Nick," Jarrod laughed as he curried his horse's red coat to a sheen.

"Yeah, yeah," Nick grumbled as he checked over his beloved Coco's legs. "Just who is this Thomson anyway, Duke? Don't recollect anyone by that name working the place." Satisfied, he patted the dark chestnut's shoulder before leading him into a nearby stall.

Duke shrugged. "Rode up this morning, looking for work. You know we're shorthanded, so I hired him on the spot. Young, but seems hard-working enough."

"Hmph." Nick glanced over at Jarrod, who was making sure Jingo's water bucket was full. "Might be hard-working, but he's gonna hafta prove to me he's not half-blind."

Jarrod chuckled and clapped his disgruntled brother on the shoulder. "Sound's like he's got the eyes of an eagle to me," he teased, rubbing it in.

As they strode in the direction of the house, Nick caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye that made him stop and stare and gave his full attention to the young man loading posts onto the wagon. He'd never seen the man before, but there was something about him…

"What is it, Nick?"

Nick turned to see Jarrod looking at him curiously. "Oh, nothing, Pappy," he replied, shaking off the eerie feeling.

Jarrod followed Nick's gaze at it returned to the blond cowboy and caught his breath. He knew that man and a knot of disquiet formed in his stomach. Wondering if the young man remembered what happened near Vallecita only six months ago and if he would say anything, Jarrod just turned to Nick and said, "Let's go, brother Nick, and tell Mother and Audra about your recent accomplishment."

After a round of congratulations, Jarrod stated he had some papers to look over and excused himself to the study. He poured himself a full glass of scotch and downed it in one swallow before sitting at the desk. It wasn't as if how he knew Heath Thomson was really of any concern to anyone, but it bothered him just the same and he stared at the words on the document in front of him without really seeing them as he tried not to remember.

_He'd been up in Sonora, taking care of some business when he heard the talk. Cooper Watkins, a man Jarrod had successfully defended on a murder charge almost a year before, had attacked a couple on their way to town, assaulting the woman before he killed both her and her husband. He'd been convicted, but on the way to his hanging had broken free and shot several people including the sheriff. It seemed the deputy tried to put together a posse to go after him, but no one had the courage to track the dangerous man. Jarrod had quietly paid for his drink, packed up his things and asked a few questions before setting out to right the wrong he felt deep down was his fault._

_He'd met up with the young deputy early the next day. Thomson hadn't questioned why the lawyer was hunting down the fugitive, but Jarrod's guilty conscience made him tell the lawman the whole story when they took a break for some food and a short rest. Thomson didn't condemn or judge him, just stated with soft conviction that everyone made mistakes and it was how one dealt with them that told what kind of man he was. They'd caught up with Watkins and the outlaw was killed in the ensuing firefight. The deputy had taken the body, the two men went their separate ways and Jarrod never talked about the incident again._

Jarrod got up and poured himself another drink. He wasn't sure why Frank Sawyer's deputy was working as a ranch hand, but that was Thomson's business, not his. His business was the law and taking care of the business aspects of the Barkley holdings and it was time he got back to it.


	9. Chapter 9

"Coming into town tonight, big brother?"

Jarrod looked up from the papers on his desk to see his brother with a wide dimpled grin on his face, hair freshly washed and slicked back off his forehead. Nick Barkley looked confident and self-assured enough to take on the world and Jarrod wasn't sure if he was willing to try and measure up.

"I don't think so, Nick," he said, indicating the ledgers on his desk. "I've got all these payrolls from the lumber camps to go through, plus Judge Adamson needs the papers filed on the Palmer case first thing Monday morning."

Nick perched on the edge of the desk. "Aw, c'mon, take the night off. Remember, all work and no play makes Pappy a dull boy."

Jarrod had to smile at the heartfelt invitation. "You go on, Nick. Maybe I'll join you later."

"I'll give the girls your regrets," Nick said wickedly, hazel eyes dancing. "Don't worry, I'll be there to console them when they start pining for you." He settled his black Stetson at a rakish angle and gave Jarrod a wink as he left the library.

Jarrod sighed as he looked back at the books in front of him. Not likely any of the girls at the saloon would be pining for him, not while Nick was ready and available. Truth be told, he didn't feel like playing second fiddle to his younger, ruggedly handsome brother.

Whenever Nick Barkley entered a room, he was inevitably the instant focus of attention. Not that Jarrod usually minded; he knew he could charm and dazzle the ladies with the best of them, he just wasn't usually their first choice when Nick was present. Jarrod closed his eyes, feeling sorry for himself for a moment and then felt foolish. He knew he was a more than competent lawyer, well respected by his peers and the citizens of Stockton and easily able to find female companionship whenever he wanted.

Jarrod blamed his current melancholy on Nick's coup at wrangling the presidency of the Cattlemen's Association, a position held by their father until his death. He wasn't precisely jealous, but Nick's success just brought back bitter memories of how he'd disappointed their father by not turning out to be the man Tom Barkley had hoped he'd be.

The conversation from the last time he'd spoken to his father echoed back to Jarrod.

_Dammit, Jarrod! While you were up in that hick town, defending some no-good rustler, Jordan managed to get a judge to back his actions! You're a part of this family, boy, a Barkley, and our interests come first! I'm head of this family, Jarrod, and you are living under my roof, so you just need to…_

_I need to what? I'm not one of your lackeys; I'm my own man! I worked hard to get where I am without touching a cent of your money and I'll be damned if I let you dictate my life! And if living under your roof means taking your orders… well, that's easy enough to fix!_

Jarrod felt the familiar wrenching of his gut that happened every time that conversation came back to haunt him. Those words spoken in the heat of anger were the last words he'd said to his father. Tom Barkley was dead less than two hours later, shot in a standoff in the same dispute with the railroad that he'd berated Jarrod about not doing enough to stop. Not for the first time, guilt at his father's death washed over Jarrod and the dark haired attorney hung his head in regret.

Suddenly, he needed some air, and, snagging a cigar from the box on his desk, Jarrod threw open the French doors and walked across the yard, not stopping until he reached the corral fence. Resting his foot on the bottom rail, Jarrod bit the end off his cigar, lit it and took a long drag. The peaceful atmosphere washed over him; horses whickering quietly, the far off lowing of cattle pastured not far from the main house, a solitary cricket chirping somewhere near the barn. The air was scented with the musky aroma of livestock and the sweet smell of freshly stacked hay. He did love this place, even loved the hot, dusty work of branding time and roundup, the feeling of pushing his body to the limit working the ranch bringing a sense of satisfaction like no other. Jarrod sighed, inhaling deeply of his cigar and letting the smoke back out, watching it curl away into the night sky. He should have tried harder to make his father understand that his passion for the law in no way diminished his love for the land.

A subtle movement out of the corner of his eye caught Jarrod's attention. He turned to spy a dark figure at the corner of the barn. It was unusual for one of the hands to be still around the place on a Saturday night and Jarrod was suddenly intrigued. Moving closer, he saw that it was Heath Thomson. The young man had finished rolling himself a cigarette and was patting his pockets with a disgusted look on his face.

"Light?" Jarrod offered as he walked closer, holding out a match. The blond gave him a crooked grin and a slight nod. Jarrod struck the match on the side of his boot and held it to the end of the cigarette, cupping his hand so the slight breeze didn't extinguish the flame.

"Much obliged," the other man said and made to move off.

"Not in town with the others?" Jarrod asked, not really wanting the blond to leave and feeling the desire for a little company.

"Man needs a little peace and quiet now and then," came the soft reply. He leaned on the fence and took a puff of the quirley. "You?"

"Same as you tonight, I guess. Peace and quiet can be hard to come by when you live in the same house as my brother Nick."

"Reckon that's the truth."

Jarrod glanced over and saw a small grin quirking at one corner of the cowboy's mouth. "Well, Nick's not all brag and bluster," Jarrod conceded with a smile of his own, "but no one's ever called him quiet."

The two men stood, leaning against the fence, neither displeased with the silence.

Jarrod was the first to speak up. "Talked to Duke this afternoon. Said he was quite impressed with your work. If he's right, you've got a place here as long as you want it. And I've seldom found Duke McCall to be wrong." Then he added, "I didn't know being a deputy was good practice for ranch work."

Heath raised an eyebrow. "Reckon I've been more than one thing in my life." He took another drag of the cigarette. "But I'll stay on for a while. Don't hear much but good things about working for the Barkleys. And it's good to work for a man you can trust to have your back."

He flashed another wry grin Jarrod's way and the older man had a sudden sense of déjà vu that had nothing to do with the fact he'd met Heath before. Then the brief smile was gone and the feeling along with it.

Heath glanced at the spent cigarette, dropped it to the dirt and ground it out beneath the toe of his boot. "Thanks for the light." He gave Jarrod a slight two-fingered wave before strolling back towards the bunkhouse.

Jarrod remained where he was until the cigar was mere ashes and the butt was relegated to the same fate as Heath's before the lawyer made his way back to the house and the work he had waiting for him.

.

.

Heath stared at the bottom of the bunk above his. When he made the decision to come to Stockton after his mama died, he didn't have a clear plan in mind. He hadn't been sure if he was just going to see what could have been his or if he was going to reveal that he was Tom Barkley's son from the wrong side of the sheets and demand a piece of what he was entitled to.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he met his father's family, but he didn't think it was this. To find one of his brothers, the man in charge of the ranch, to be someone with a sense of humour he could appreciate and the obvious respect of his men, was a pleasant discovery. He got the impression that he and Nick were alike in all the ways that mattered and there was a good chance they could become fast friends if Nick could get around the fact that Heath was his father's bastard if and when he told him.

Heath smiled as he thought of his encounter with Audra at their father's grave when he'd first arrived a few days ago. His little sister was quite the spitfire and the way she wielded that little whip had surely been a sight to behold. Heath was glad she'd told him she was Tom Barkley's daughter when she had or he was sure he would have kissed her right then and there.

Then his thoughts wandered to the other Barkley brother. Heath hadn't expected the Jarrod he'd met tracking down Cooper Watkins to be Tom Barkley's eldest son, but it wasn't an unpleasant surprise. He knew firsthand that what he'd heard about the lawyer, how he was ruthless in defending his family and upholding the law and how he was likely one of the fairest minded men on the west coast, was true. Not many men of his position would go to such lengths to right a wrong he thought he'd committed, even though from what Jarrod told him that day on the trail, it wasn't through any real fault of his own. The witness to the earlier charge was a known liar and even the town's sheriff thought Watkins' story rang true. The lawyer had done his job, defended his client to the best of his ability and Heath didn't see the fault in that. He'd thought he'd met his end when his gun jammed after they caught up with Watkins, but Jarrod was sure and steady when he stepped between Heath and the outlaw to pull the trigger.

Sighing, Heath was conflicted. He'd come to Stockton full of hate and resentment for the family of the man who'd got his mama with child and abandoned her but instead found people he'd be proud to be counted as one of. But staking that claim would cause a whole new set of problems. He didn't have to make a decision right then though, so Heath closed his eyes and decided to wait and see what the future would bring.


	10. Chapter 10

_The next couple chapters are straight from "Palms of Glory" (minus poor forgotten Eugene) with only a few tweaks and my spin on what wasn't or couldn't be shown on screen. My thanks to the writers and apologies to Charles Briles for writing Eugene out of this story._

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"Jarrod!"

Jarrod looked up from the injunction he was preparing to file to keep the railroad from taking his neighbours' land and walked to his door. He'd arrived home after a frustrating and fruitless battle in the state capitol only to find the railroad had set its ultimatum for the morning and he didn't really feel like dealing with one of Nick's tirades, but knew Nick would keep hollering until he arrived.

"Jarrod, get down here!" the voice yelled again and Jarrod broke into a run as he heard an edge to his brother's voice that was seldom there.

"Nick, what in the name of..." he started as he entered the library and whirled at the sound of breaking glass to find Heath Thomson, blood on his face, menacing him with a broken bottle. Jarrod had no idea what was going on.

"Now I've had me a day." To Jarrod it looked like he was confronting a crouching mountain lion and wondered what had set Heath off. "Pulled out of my bed to be accused and a fist in my face. Now this one's gonna be peaceful, you hear?" There was another tense moment. Jarrod eased up his defensive posture first, followed by Nick and then Heath.

"Well look at that," Heath commented as he wandered across the room and gestured at the portrait hanging above the fireplace with the broken bottle. "The old stud himself."

Jarrod held Nick back with a firm grip on his arm. There was something about the blond that tickled at the back of Jarrod's mind and he remembered that sense of déjà vu he had that night by the corral.

"Boy howdy, don't he look proper. You know, I bet they buried him in those clothes, with his buttons all shined and his hair all spit and slickered, and a rose in his teeth, and the honeybees buzzin'." Heath's voice practically dripped with scorn and Jarrod wondered what was up with the normally calm man.

Nick lunged for him again. "Oh, now that's all..."

Jarrod held onto his volatile brother again.

Heath tossed the bottle on the ground as he paced back across the room. "I'll bet a band played, and there was singin' and wailin' and ever so good a time, and some parson readin'." He turned back and looked coldly at the two brothers. "They buried my mama. But it wasn't in refinement, and no thousand people weeped over her grave. In a potter's field, like she was nothin', human or flesh."

Jarrod saw the resentment in the younger man's eyes and didn't blame him. His mama probably deserved those honours more than Tom Barkley did.

Heath continued with his smouldering rage. "The night I was born, she was alone, in a tent, in a rotten rathole of a mining camp up the Stanislaus." Jarrod kept his hands on his hips as he suddenly realized where he'd seen Heath's distinctive grin before. "And the rain beat down and turned the straw to mud. Do you know what she was? She was warm, and gentle and fair, and left to her own when her husband got liquored up and drowned in some stinking creek. Until he came." Heath's eyes flickered back to the portrait.

Jarrod knew exactly what Heath was implying and felt the disgust rise in his gut. In spite of the guilt he still felt over his father's death, he wished he wasn't of Tom Barkley's seed. "How long ago was this?

"Twenty-four years."

"Where?" the lawyer asked

Heath stood his ground. "In a mining camp."

"You told us that," Nick said abruptly from his position on the other side of the room.

Twenty-four years. Jarrod remembered a time about that long ago when his father had been gone for a long while. "What mining camp?"

"Strawberry," was the succinct reply.

Jarrod didn't move as Nick strode forward. "Come on. You know there was a lot of men in those camps. You know the kind of women…"

"Nick!" Jarrod snapped. It wasn't the kind of women; it was the kind of man their father had been.

"There was only one of my mother!" Heath replied hotly.

"Just the simple, sweet, innocent little..." Nick scoffed and Jarrod broke in again. He walked up to confront Heath.

"What my brother is clumsily trying to determine," he said as though cross-examining a witness, "is when you came to hear."

In spite of his battered face, Heath stood strong and Jarrod could tell the other man still knew he was in control. "Three months ago."

Nick turned his back. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure."

Jarrod continued his questioning. "What happened three months ago?"

"My mother died."

"Confessions from a deathbed," Nick commented derisively.

Jarrod finally snapped, "Nick, that'll be enough!" He didn't know if his brother knew about their father's straying outside his marriage or not, but was fed up with Nick's attitude. He turned back to Heath. "Well?" He knew in his heart Heath was telling the truth, but also knew Nick would never let it pass unless Heath proved his claim to the rancher's satisfaction.

Heath picked up his glass of whiskey and turned away from them. "I'd been up on the Klamath. They called for me. Said she was sick, was dyin'. She never talked about it, who my father was, not in all those years." Heath took a breath and continued. "There was something she wanted me to know, something she couldn't take to her grave. There was a Bible in a box, and she told me to get it. She said, 'Turn to the back, to the last page.' I started to, and this fell out." Heath took a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and Jarrod recognized it as a newspaper clipping. "I picked it up, I read it. And I looked at her… and she was gone." He turned and held out the paper towards Jarrod. Jarrod took it and instantly recognized the headline and the copy of the portrait that hung on the wall. He passed it to Nick.

"This it?" the rancher asked. "All of it? Just one piece of paper?"

"He was my father," Heath said defiantly.

Nick folded up the paper and tucked it back into Heath's pocket. "All right, boy…"

"You don't believe me," Heath accused. "You're not dumpin' me the way he dumped her."

"Keep your voice down!" Nick shouted and Jarrod had to smile a bit at the incongruity of the statement and the volume with which it was uttered.

Jarrod's blue eyes met Heath's. "What do you want, Heath?"

Heath met his gaze coolly. "What I'm entitled to. A name, a heritage, a part of it all. What's mine."

Nick pulled some bills out of his pocket. "All right, boy. Now you listen to me." He stuffed the money in Heath's shirt pocket. "This is all you get. I want you out of this house, off this place and out of this valley. And know this. If I ever lay eyes on you again, I'm gonna finish what I started tonight."

Heath stared at Nick. Without breaking eye contact, he took the money out of his pocket and with the same deliberation, put it into his whiskey glass. Setting the glass on the table, he turned and gave Jarrod a wave and the flash of a grin before he strode across the parlour and out the front door.

"Can you believe that?" Nick snarled as the door shut behind him. "Of all the nerve…"

"What happened, Nick?" Jarrod demanded. "Heath's been working here for what? Six weeks? He hasn't said a word in all that time. Why now and why like this?"

"Well, I…" Nick ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I guess I sort of accused him of coming here as a spy for the railroad. We got into a fight and he just blurted it out."

"You…" Jarrod shook his head in disbelief before he stated bluntly, "Nick, you were out of line. I need to go finish that injunction tonight, but we _will_ talk about this in the morning." Jarrod left before Nick could protest.

He went to his room and poured a measure of scotch. He wasn't surprised Heath wasn't interested in a payoff and he also wasn't surprised to find out Tom had sired another son.

Jarrod sipped his drink slowly. He wondered if his father had known. But even if Heath's mother hadn't said anything, their father certainly would have known how babies were conceived and there was no excuse for him not going to Strawberry to make sure. _Is that really what you thought a man should be?_ Jarrod thought bitterly at the memory of his father. _Leaving a son of your blood to be born and raised in such circumstances?_

He was jolted from his reverie by another of Nick's shouts. Wondering what it could be that time, he went downstairs to find his brother buckling on his gunbelt.

"Fire at Swenson's," the rancher said curtly. "I'm heading off to help."

Jarrod cringed inwardly. The violence had already started. "Saddle my horse," he told Nick, "I'll be right there."

The scene was chaos when the brothers arrived. Most of the buildings had already burned to the ground and men with buckets were trying to extinguish the last of the flames. Jarrod saw Sig Swenson hurl his bucket in anger as the chimney of the house crumbled. He saw Heath ride up with Audra and wondered briefly at her torn dress. But he dismissed his concerns about his sister with the unshakable knowledge that Heath was an honourable man. He noticed their mother drive up in a buggy before he turned his attention to their friend and neighbour.

"They came," Swenson said as Nick grabbed his arm and Jarrod walked over slowly after staring at the devastation, "just came. With guns and torches, howling out like wolves. And I just stood there, aside, and watched them do it." He hung his head in despair.

"Well, not my place." Frank Sample strode up, determination in every step. "And hanged I'll be after paying for what I own." He took something out of his pocket and Jarrod recognized it as the notice to vacate from the railroad. "I have a paper here that says I'll have to do just that." He walked over to Nick, then to the sheriff who had arrived with Heath and Audra. "By 8 o'clock in the morning, or have my place took out from under me. Well, I ain't, you hear?" There was a thick silence, them Sample held the paper aloft. _ "_I ain't! Who stands with me?"

In the shadows, Heath remained mounted.

Sheriff Lyman looked sternly at Nick who had moved to stand beside Sample. "No one stands with you, Frank. I'm sorry, but legally after tomorrow the land's no longer yours."

Sample lowered his hand slowly. "Nick," he said, almost desperately and then walked to Jarrod. "Jarrod. Listen. Six years ago, your daddy and mine fought and died for this, cause your daddy said it was right to fight."

"And what did it gain you?" Sheriff Lyman shouted. "Any one of you?" He turned to Sample. "Your father…" and then to Jarrod, "and yours. Ten others, dead. Six years of false hope. I bow to no man in my regard for Tom Barkley, but he was only a man. He couldn't fight a giant and win! Any more than can you!" He addressed Sample again. "Or you. Or any man." He looked over the gathered crowd. "So worship him, and pray for him, but follow him… you follow a dead man to his grave."

Sample looked from Nick to Jarrod. "That true? What he says? Your daddy gave us nothing? No way to fight?" The farmer bowed his head and walked away, defeated. "Never did."

Everyone's attention was on Frank Sample, who ripped the ultimatum from the railroad and threw it to the ground in despair. Everyone watched as Nick took a long look around, catching each of them in his piercing gaze, with a longer look at his brother before he walked over and stood beside Sample, arms crossed defiantly. Swenson went to stand on his neighbour's other side.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jarrod saw Heath turn his horse's head and leave and suddenly felt the weight of devastation crush him.

He had failed. In spite of his belief and faith in the law, they were back to where they'd been when his father was gunned down.

Maybe if he had taken it to the courts the first time around, like his father wanted, instead of focusing on his client at the time… Jarrod felt the guilt settle heavier on his soul. If he had dropped that case to focus on the railroad issue, an innocent man would have likely hung, leaving his wife and small daughter alone. And if he had dropped it, his father and eleven other men might still be alive and none of this would be happening.

He looked up and met the eyes of his mother, eyes that had never held condemnation, only love, support and pride.

But that pride was misplaced. Tom Barkley's way had prevailed. It was fight or nothing and Jarrod gave up his struggle as he walked over to stand beside his brother and the rest of the valley farmers who had come to fight the fire moved in behind them.

"Harry, I've known you most of my life," Jarrod said, his posture and expression implacable, "and respected you. Enough to be honest."

"Any man who comes to try to take that farm, he's going to be killed," Nick finished for his brother.

The sheriff looked from one unyielding face to another and responded in kind. "I'm sorry to hear that, because I'm going to be with them." He turned, mounted his horse and rode away, knowing nothing more could be said.

Jarrod listened to Nick and Sample start making plans and then walked over to his own horse.

"Jarrod!" Nick called after him and grabbed him by the arm. "Where the devil are you going?"

Jarrod tore his arm away and wondered if his brother could understand. "I need to think, Nick," he said and was relieved to see some sort of understanding in the hazel eyes.

Nick nodded. "See you back at the house." Jarrod clapped his brother on the back in gratitude before mounting his horse and riding off into the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

Victoria watched with bated breath at the scene unfolding in front of her. It was happening again, but this time it wasn't her husband, but her sons who were in the line of fire. Her heart trembled in fear as she saw Nick walk to stand defiantly beside Frank Sample, but it was full of pride as well. Tom Barkley may have been a lot of things, but he never backed down from what needed to be done and that spirit and sense of duty had been passed on to his sons.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and turned just in time to see Heath pull his horse's head around and gallop away. _You did that boy a great injustice_, _Tom,_ she thought_, he should have grown up with his brothers and sister._ She didn't know much about the young man, only what she could discern from the gentle nature she sensed and the reports of his hard work from the foreman and other ranch hands. She wondered about that unknown woman, not as the one whom her husband had betrayed her with, but as the mother of a young boy, shaping him into a man by herself and how hard it must have been for her.

Victoria turned her attention back. She saw the indecision on Jarrod's face and her heart went out to her eldest child. _You did your other son a great injustice too_, she thought bitterly. She knew how much he had anguished about his choice six years ago to continue his defence of a young man wrongly accused of rustling and murder instead of taking up the legal aspects of the fight against the railroad. He'd never actually talked to her about it, but she knew that Jarrod carried around a degree of guilt over his father's death and hoped the decision he made now was one he could live with. She caught his gaze, biting back a tear when she saw the regret on his face as he strode over to stand beside his brother, and prayed she wouldn't be burying one or both of them beside their father tomorrow.

"Take me home, Cody," she said softly to the ranch hand who had driven her over.

On the drive back, worry for her sons' safety fought with thoughts of the young man she knew in her soul was her husband's son. She'd over heard the argument in the study and realized what it was about Heath Thomson that seemed so familiar. She thought back to that time twenty-five years ago.

She'd had another miscarriage, the second in three years. Tom was frequently absent from home, working out on the range with the herd, on trips to buy and sell their cattle and on expeditions to expand the family's other business interests. With the house to take care of and two rambunctious boys to look after, Victoria hadn't been able to rest like the doctor recommended when she found out she was pregnant. The second time, she'd lashed out at Tom and blamed him for losing another child. Tom had been quick to anger as well, telling her if the sacrifices he made for the family weren't appreciated, then he'd just go elsewhere.

They didn't hear from him for over a month and when Tom finally returned home, it was with the purchase of a silver mine up the Stanislaus, hat in hand, professing how much he missed them all.

But Victoria knew. She took Tom back; how could she not, with two small boys to consider and loving him the way she did, even though she hated him as well. She knew because of the well-mended shirts, the embroidered handkerchiefs that still smelled faintly of a rose perfume and the slightly absent look he'd get in his eyes whenever business with the mine came up. She finally confronted him about it, almost six months later, and Tom had the decency to confess to loving another woman. He swore he'd given her up when he realized all he'd left behind. Tom sold the mine to prove himself and that sale resulted in an enormous profit and the start of the Barkley wealth. Victoria turned a blind eye to Tom's other indiscretions, telling herself that a man had needs a woman couldn't understand, but deep down she knew it was just a pathetic attempt to console herself. She did almost leave Tom when he wouldn't try to mend his fences with Jarrod, but she still had Audra to think about and besides, a woman of her position just didn't leave her husband.

But she knew Heath Thomson was Tom Barkley's son. Her husband had impregnated another woman and as far as she could tell, abandoned that woman with no means of support, no acknowledgement of the son she'd borne him. Victoria knew the scorn and derision which unwed mothers and their offspring were subjected to and she was saddened to think of that soft-spoken young man enduring the taunts and insults she'd heard directed towards fatherless children from time to time.

As much as it would hurt to have a constant reminder of her husband's betrayals, she came to one inescapable conclusion. Heath was no less a Barkley than Jarrod, Nick or Audra, and Victoria believed he had as much right to that heritage as her own children. She could never take the sins of the father out on the son and prayed that when she talked to the rest of her family, they would agree.

Thanking Cody as he handed her out of the carriage, Victoria walked across the porch and slowly opened the front door, still deep in thought. She stopped, staring, as she saw the object of those thoughts standing at the entrance to the parlour, filling his hat with the apples that were always kept on the small table there. He glanced up and saw her before he turned back to his task without acknowledging her presence. Quickly striding to the door, Heath paused when he reached her and Victoria saw his father in those sky blue eyes.

She spoke up as he brushed past her to leave. "He was an imperfect man, my husband... and in so many ways that could hurt." Not looking, Victoria sensed that Heath had turned to pay attention to her words. This son of her husband's had never known his father like her other boys and in spite of his faults, Tom Barkley had helped shape those boys into men she was proud of and she wanted to give Heath a sense of why Tom was so respected by the people of the Valley. She pushed away all the hurt, all the wrongs he'd done to her, to Jarrod, to Heath and his mother, and concentrated on the good that was in Tom, the man who'd shaped Nick into a strong rancher and leader; the man who, in spite of his lack of support and understanding, had made his eldest into a man to contend with.

"But he never destroyed, only built and gave life. For he knew that what he brought was a changing way, a revolution of its own that said, 'You are a free man. No one, not railroad, nor Jordan, nor Thomas Barkley, can own you.' And he knew it was something you won only with courage, pride and leadership. That's what he tried to instil in his sons." She wished Tom had remembered those words in his dealings with his oldest child. No one would ever own the man Jarrod had become, not even his father. She looked up at Heath, wanting desperately to see the courage, pride and leadership that was so strong in Jarrod and Nick in this unacknowledged son of her husband's. There was a hint in those blue eyes, something lurking behind the impassive expression. _ "_If you hadn't ridden away tonight, you would have seen that he accomplished it. It's not a battle that can be won in a day, a year, or even ten. And then, one day, he made a terrible, wretched mistake. He died, before anyone really understood."

Victoria had to pause, pushed down the tears that threatened as she thought of the other mistakes that Tom had made and stared straight into those blue eyes, speaking to Jarrod as well as to Heath. "And so, if you were my son, I would say to you, 'Be proud', because any son of my husband has a right to be proud. Live as he would live, fight as he would fight, and no one… no one can deny you his birthright." In Heath's eyes, Victoria saw echoes of Tom and of Jarrod, even of Nick and Audra. She suddenly wanted to reach out to him, to embrace him as she did her own children and try to erase some of the pain and doubt she sensed. "That's what I would say to you... if you were my son."

The moment seemed frozen in time as Heath looked at her, and Victoria finally had to look away, listening as he left and shut the door, hearing the hoofbeats as he galloped his horse out the gate. She thought of her husband's unacknowledged son and of the son he'd done his best to drive away. "You may have failed them, Tom," she whispered, "but they're not going to fail you. None of your sons have ever failed you."

.

Heath rode away from the mansion, mulling over the words spoken to him by his father's wife.

_Any son of my husband has a right to be proud. Live as he would live, fight as he would fight, and no one… no one can deny you his birthright._

He'd told his brothers that he wanted that birthright, and now it was seemingly being offered to him, he just had to decide if he was going to take it. He reckoned Jarrod accepted him and from what Mrs. Barkley said, she did as well. It wouldn't be easy to be accepted as a Barkley along with Tom's right-born sons, but then again, when had anything in his life ever been easy?

Then he saw the man in the distance, walking along the trail with the sorrel gelding following behind. He nudged his black cowpony into a fast walk and soon caught up.

"Where you heading?"

The blue eyes of his brother looked up at him and Heath saw him try to conceal the flash of guilt. It seemed it wasn't easy to be an acknowledged son of Tom Barkley, either. "Nowhere in particular. You?"

"Nowhere in particular," Heath answered back. He travelled silently alongside the man he was proud to call brother. Jarrod didn't speak again right away, but Heath knew how to be patient.

"I killed him, you know," the dark-haired man said after a moment. "Our father. If I'd have been paying attention to what the railroad was doing six years ago, I might have been able to stop it without a fight. If I'd gone with him, maybe I could have saved him, or at least died in his place." The last words came out in a choked sob.

"And what about men who were killed in the war 'cause my bullet missed and the enemy got off another shot?" Heath asked. "We ain't responsible for what others do. We're only responsible to God and our own consciences. From all I've heard and seen, you're a good man, Jarrod, and one I'm proud to call my brother."

"I'm sorry for what happened tonight," Jarrod told him after another long moment. "I knew my father well enough that finding out he'd sired another son wasn't really a surprise." He caught Heath's eyes with his. "Nick was wrong to try and buy you off."

Heath gave him a lopsided smile. "Reckon my attitude didn't help none."

"You're welcome to come back to the house," Jarrod invited. "I don't know what we'll do about Nick and I don't know how I'll tell Mother, but…"

"Your mother already knows," Heath broke in softly. "But I reckon I'm gonna head to town for the night. Got a few things to think over."

Jarrod nodded. "If you ever need anything, I want you to know that you can always ask."

"Goes both ways, big brother," he said with a grin before wheeling his horse around and galloping off to town, leaving Jarrod to make his own way back to the ranch.

Jarrod held out a faint hope that Harry could talk some sense into the railroad's hired guns, but it was just that, a faint and distant hope. Even though he knew it would likely prove futile, he retrieved his papers from his room and took them down to the study to finish the injunction he knew would never be filed. He pushed away everything else, thoughts of the fight about to come, thoughts of what the existence of Heath Thomson was doing to his mother, thoughts of what happened six years ago and was concentrating so hard he didn't even realize Nick had entered the room until a full glass of scotch was placed in front of him.

Jarrod looked up. "What was that, Nick?"

Nick took a drink and perched on the edge of the desk. "So, what now?"

Shrugging defeatedly, Jarrod said, "I don't know, Nick. I've got the paperwork ready to file in the morning, but yours and Father's way seems to be the only one that has any results." He sighed. "I just feel so useless."

"Jarrod, no matter which way it goes tomorrow, you're the only one who can keep this from happening again for good," Nick told him firmly. "There's always gonna be greed, more guns and more money to hire them. This has got to be stopped once and for all. The only way to do that is through the law and you're the best damned lawyer I know."

Jarrod smiled a little. "I suppose since the governor vetoed my bill, I can try to take our case to Washington. The bill passed on the floor here, so it should there. And Grant has a reputation for upholding civil rights. We might be able to finally stop Jordan; that is, assuming any of us make it out of tomorrow alive."

"Well, I'll hold down the fort while you charm the movers and shakers in the capitol." Nick took a swallow of his whiskey. "What do you want to do about Thomson? If Mother finds out…"

Jarrod leaned back in his chair and looked Nick in the eye. "I think Mother already knows."

That statement made Nick drain his glass in one gulp. "You really believe that story of his, don't you?"

"Yes," Jarrod said simply. "And so do you, unless you actually believe our father was a saint."

Nick looked down into his empty glass. "Reckon I just don't want to admit I know he wasn't," he replied softly.

Jarrod got up from the desk and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nick."

"You got nothing to be sorry for, Pappy," Nick assured him. "You've never done anything to disappoint me and that's a fact." He put the glass on the desk. "I should head up, too. Don't you stay up too late. You need your rest for tomorrow." Nick started to leave and then turned back to give Jarrod a fierce hug. "I'll have your back. Don't know what I'd do if a bullet found you."

Jarrod returned the embrace. "And I'll have yours," he echoed.

Nick gave Jarrod a clap on the back and left as Jarrod sat back behind the desk. He read over the injunction again before leaning back to ponder Nick's words and Heath's. It did seem as though the only person who thought he had any degree of guilt for their father's death was himself, but he wasn't sure if that made it any less true.

This time he heard the soft footfalls as someone came into the study and he smiled up at his mother. He noted that her answering smile didn't reach her eyes and saw the obvious worry etched across her face. Jarrod got up, went over and enfolded her in a comforting hug.

At length, the anxiety and worry overwhelmed her and she began to shake, her breath coming in great, heaving sobs.

Jarrod held her close while she cried on his shoulder, rubbing her back and offering words of comfort. "It's okay, Mother, we'll be okay. You'll see."

The tears exhausted themselves a few minutes later and Jarrod pulled out a handkerchief to dry her eyes, his suspiciously bright as well.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod," Victoria said apologetically.

"No need, lovely lady." Jarrod placed a small kiss on her forehead. "You've soothed enough of my tears in the past, it's only right that I return the favour." He guided her to the settee and sat her down before taking his own seat beside her. "I can't promise you anything other than that I'll do my best to see Nick comes home safely."

Victoria put her hand on his arm. "Just like I know he'll do the same for you and that you'll both watch Heath's back as well."

Jarrod wasn't sure what to say for a moment, then finally asked, "When did you know?"

Victoria gazed at the portrait of Tom above the fireplace. "I suppose I suspected not long after he came to the ranch," she said. "There was just something about him that I couldn't put my finger on and then, when I overheard the three of you tonight…"

Jarrod looked up abruptly, guilt on his face. "I didn't want you to hear…"

Victoria placed her hand over his. "It's all right, sweetheart." She took a deep breath as Jarrod held her hand. "I knew about your father's roving eye, his… indiscretions. He told me about his affair in Strawberry, with the woman who must have been Heath's mother."

"I'm sorry, Mother."

Victoria smiled, holding his eyes with hers. "You of all people have nothing to be sorry for, Jarrod."

Jarrod tried to return the smile, but the guilt remained on his face. "If I'd have done what Father wanted, he might still be alive and the confrontation tomorrow might not be happening," he said softly.

"Never think that, Jarrod," his mother admonished him sternly. "You followed your convictions and your father should have admired you for that. Even though he was a stubborn, hardheaded man who sometimes went about it in the wrong way, he only wanted the best for his family. A value he instilled in all his sons." She gripped his hand more tightly. "I'm sorry I haven't told you more often how proud I am that you're my son."

Victoria saw the guilt slowly leave Jarrod's face. "And I've always been proud to be your son," he told her. There was another moment of silence before Jarrod spoke again. "What are you going to do about Heath?"

"I think that will be up to him," she said softly. There was no doubt in her voice as she added, "When he comes back to stand beside his brothers tomorrow."

Jarrod nodded. "How do you feel, Mother, about all this? I mean, Heath is Father's son, my brother, but he's not yours. If it's too hard…" He trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

"It will be hard," Victoria admitted, "but I certainly bear no ill will towards that young man. I want him to stay, for you to get to know each other and for him to feel like a part of his family. I never want to take him away from his own mother, but…"

"His mother passed away a few months ago," Jarrod interjected softly.

Victoria's heart went out to the quiet young man. "Then he has no one."

"No, Mother," Jarrod corrected. "You were right before. He does have a family, right here with us."

"And he always will," Victoria concurred, acceptance written irrevocably in her determined grey eyes. "Just like you always have, no matter what happens."

Jarrod nodded and Victoria embraced him again before looking him in the eyes. "Now you need to get some sleep before tomorrow," she ordered sternly. "You may be over thirty, but I'm still your mother."

"I hear and obey, lovely lady," Jarrod said with a chuckle, his heart lighter as he took her arm and they headed towards the stairs.


	12. Chapter 12

Nick sat on Sample's porch in the bright early morning sunshine. "I tried to run for cover," he told his rapt audience, gesturing for emphasis, "but these claws were ripping right into my back, and the teeth were hitting my neck. I've been up against some cats before..."

"How'd you get out?" one of the men asked.

"Her husband came home."

Nick gave his older brother a glare as Jarrod walked up behind him to lean against the post. Most of the men were already there, checking their pistols, loading their rifles, making small talk as they accepted cups of coffee from Mrs. Sample and tried to distract themselves from what was about to come.

Nick crossed his arms. "What time is it?"

Jarrod reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. He opened it, glancing briefly before returning it to his pocket and squinting off into the distance. "Ten minutes to eight." admired

Nick slouched more heavily against the rail and smacked his black-gloved hands together. Ten minutes before Jordan's deadline. He'd seen the quality of the hired guns the railroad brought in and as much as he knew they had to take a stand, he wasn't looking forward to this fight. Give him a good brawl any day, fist against fist, muscle against muscle, but anyone could get lucky with a bullet. Or unlucky. He glanced over at Jarrod, who was still staring off into the distance. Damn the governor anyway, for being in the pocket of the railroad! His brother had gotten his bill passed; it was the will of the people that the Coastal and Western be stopped and that man had no right to go against that. He and Jarrod were going to have to have a long talk when this was over and maybe he'd finally be able to talk Jarrod into making a bid for office. There was no one he'd rather see in the governor's mansion than his brother.

"Jarrod. Nick." Frank Sample nodded in the direction of town and both men turned their heads towards the sound of approaching riders.

Nick jumped from his perch on the porch rail, moving to stand behind it and he felt a surge of admiration for his big brother when Jarrod stepped out in front. Rifles and pistols were readied as almost two dozen men rode into the yard.

"Nettie!" Sample called to his wife and she came slowly out of the house, her eyes never leaving the approaching men. "Where are the kids?"

"In the cellar."

"Get with them," Sample told her. Nettie glanced at him before moving to do his bidding.

The men pulled their horses to a halt to mill restlessly in front of the house. Sheriff Lyman dismounted and approached.

"That's far enough, Harry," Sample told him, the determined farmer slowly walking towards Stockton's sheriff. The air was silent with only the snort of a horse breaking the stillness.

The sheriff slowly pulled a piece of paper from his pocked and unfolded it. He started to read. " 'At 8:00 a.m., by order of the Governor of the State of California'..."

"We know what it says, Harry," Jarrod broke in, his posture deceptively casual.

Harry continued reading. " 'And the power vested in me as sheriff of this county'..."

"We know what it says," Nick repeated belligerently.

Harry folded the paper, regret in his eyes and turned at the sound of more hoofbeats. Everyone else turned with him and Jarrod and Nick exchanged a glance when they recognized the rider.

The sheriff tried again. "Frank, these people have been empowered as agents of the Coastal and Western to take possession of your property."

"I'll be dead first." The normally genial farmer's eyes were cold.

"Now, Frank, you listen." The sheriff's voice was almost desperate as he pleaded with the assembled men. "All of you, listen."

The black horse galloped through the assembled riders, stopping at the house as its rider jumped from the saddle, pulled the rifle from its sheath and hurried onto the porch. Heath held the rifle firmly as he took a position beside his brothers.

"These men have been duly sworn and deputized, and every one with the right to do as they see fit if they're defied." Harry Lyman looked from the men assembled on the porch to those who would use whatever force necessary to take that land away before turning back. "Frank, you've got family. Now that must mean something. You think of your people."

No one spoke, not a muscle twitched. Harry turned to appeal to the men whose father had been a leader in the valley. "In the name of God, Jarrod, Nick!"

Everyone stared, unmoving, not speaking. The leader of the hired guns took a look at his watch and held up a finger to indicate one minute.

"You have no way!" the sheriff tried again. "Jarrod, tell them!"

"Get out of this, Harry," Nick warned. He didn't want to see an old friend get killed for just doing his duty.

"You men are asking to be killed!" It was as if Lyman was talking to a stone wall. "You're fighting for something you haven't a chance of winning!"

"The courthouse opens at nine," Jarrod offered, taking one more chance to avoid bloodshed. "Will you wait?"

Sheriff Lyman looked to the railroad's men, undecided. Pistols were loosened from holsters, rifles were readied and Jarrod slowly removed the safety loop from his gun. It had finally come down to this. He would rather be fighting this battle within the boundaries of the law, but in spite of all their differences, he was Tom Barkley's son and wasn't going to back down from something he knew was worth fighting and dying for.

Without warning, the leader drew his gun and shot Sample dead in the chest, sending the unfortunate farmer flying backwards to lie unmoving in the dirt.

Nick jumped over the porch rail, pulled his gun and fired as bullets flew in all directions. Men started falling and Nick was too busy trying to keep himself alive to worry about the men he was killing.

Harry Lyman moved in a circle, as if still trying to find a way to stop the altercation. Jarrod watched in horror as a stray bullet felled his friend and fellow upholder of justice. He looked up as Cody Miller, long-time employee of the Barkleys, was hit and fell from the barn loft and the lawyer finally drew his gun to pick several men off their horses. Pain ripped through his arm and Jarrod fell back as he clutched at the gunshot wound. He felt someone come off the porch and crouch down beside him as he regained his composure and sent a few more shots into the fray.

Taking careful aim, Heath used the skills he'd learned as a sharpshooter in the Union army to pick off several of his opponents before he saw Jarrod fall back against the steps. He quickly leaped to his brother's side, thankful to see Jarrod hadn't been seriously wounded as the other man resumed firing. Heath took aim and felled a man who looked to be taking advantage of Jarrod's momentary incapacitation. He took no pleasure in killing and knew he'd be an emotional wreck after all was said and done. But it was his brothers he was fighting beside that day, for a cause that Heath knew was right and that made all the difference.

Nick's gut clenched when he saw Jarrod fall, but when Heath Thomson jumped down from his spot on the porch to defend his wounded brother, something gave inside of him. In that moment, he knew deep inside that Heath truly was his brother and Nick turned his attention back to the fight, secure in the knowledge that all of Tom Barkley's sons were fighting together as it should be.

Finally, the hired guns turned tail and ran, knowing they had been beaten. Men helped wounded comrades to ride double, followed by a few more shots fired from the defenders as Nettie Sample rushed from the house to the side of her slain husband.

Jarrod looked around at the carnage. Nick came over to stand beside him and Jarrod let him look at his bloody sleeve without complaint. Too many good men had died, but even so, he felt a sense of peace. He had done what he needed to, today as well as that fateful day six years before. No one else blamed him and it was time he stopped blaming himself. Even though he still harboured a lingering guilt over his father's death, he knew his choices had been the right ones.

Then he saw Heath sitting against a barrel, his hands shaking as he tried to roll a cigarette. Jarrod walked slowly over to his brother. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and held it out.

Heath looked up and cautiously accepted the offering. He bit the end off the cigar before looking again at Jarrod and their blue eyes met before they gazed back over the field of dead.

"Too many good men," Heath said, echoing Jarrod's earlier thoughts.

"That is a fact."

Both of them looked over to Nick, who was standing beside them with an identical look of regret on his face. "C'mon, let's go home. I'm sure Mother and Audra are worried sick and we can bring back a couple wagons to help out."

Jarrod nodded and they took a few steps before they realized Heath wasn't following.

Nick turned back and put his hands on his hips. "Well, aren't you coming, boy?"

Heath looked from one brother to the other and a small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "I ain't your boy, Nick."

Jarrod just chuckled as Heath rose to join them.

"You know, if you're a Barkley, you've got a job to learn," Nick continued as they made their way to their horses. "That means up in the morning, every morning…"

Jarrod handed each of his brothers the reins to their horses, cutting off Nick's tirade and they slowly shared a smile before mounting and finally heading for home.


End file.
